CHAPTER TWO
The elevator ride up to the penthouse was the longest ninety seconds of my life.
I shouldn’t have come. I should’ve dropped the damn folder on his secretary’s desk and gone home. But Damon Stone had called, voice sharp, low, and I’d found myself obeying like some desperate intern instead of a grown woman with a spine.
When the doors opened, I stepped into his world.
Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the glittering skyline. Dark leather couches, a crystal decanter half-full of whiskey, everything sharp, expensive, male.
And him.
He stood at the window, jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. Broad shoulders framed in city light. His reflection in the glass caught mine, lips curving slow, dangerous.
“You came.”
I swallowed. “You said it was urgent.”
“It is.” He
